


Cabin Pressure

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fetish, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Watersports, Wetting, your kink is okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: There’s nothing fun about being…uncomfortablystuck on delayed budget flights.  Unless your boyfriend happens to be a specific sort of dodgy old pervert and you have access to skype, Eggsy supposes.The sequel toSurface TensionI said I’d never post.





	Cabin Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the encouragers, the enablers, to Otherwiseestella for joining in and providing more gorgeous WS content for this fandom, and to my girl Emphysematous just because. 
> 
> Thanks, folks, for not letting me give this one up. Genuinely had no intention but apparently, when I'm stressed out I write filth. 
> 
> PLEASE heed the tags. If it's a squick for you go no further.

 

Cabin Pressure

 

 

“Alright babes?” It’s the work of genius, really, that Eggsy can let Harry know that he’s arrived safely and that he’s calling of his own will, uncompromised, in two such unassuming words. “Uh… Is this a good time for a video call? Private line?”

“Absolutely. Give me just a moment and I'll call you.” Harry disconnects the phonecall and thumbs open Skype on his tablet instead, flipping the case open to function as a stand and propping it on the dressing table. A little fizz of excitement, as he sits down and Skype bloops its successful connection: Eggsy doesn’t tend to video call just to pass the time of day. Not when he only left nine hours ago.  “Hello again. You know, all these connections are all monitored by Microsoft. You'd rather whatever data collecting marketing drone or bureaucratic agent see this than one of our own?”

“Absolutely. I ain't got to look them in the face when I get ‘ome. Hello NCA man!” Eggsy wriggles to adjust in his chair, and continues, cheerily addressing the presumably imaginary audience: “You might want to go get a coffee if you don't want to see my knob. Or stay if you do, ain’t got a problem with it.” He winks into the camera and Harry is caught in the crossfire, winded, weak kneed.

Distracted as he is by Eggsy’s sudden appearance in his day, Harry notices the details in the way that come naturally not only as an agent but as an attentive partner, and something about Eggsy’s body language is definitely off: amusement; discomfort; tension. The excited strain of a joke not yet told, a gift hidden behind one’s back until giving. That’s fine. Harry is fond of pleasant surprises.

Eggsy sprawls extravagantly in his chair and runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. 

“Flying civvie sucks absolute balls. I'd ask who I need to blow to get dropped off by jet but I'm pretty sure it's you, so what gives?” He doesn’t give Harry the chance to answer. There’s something urgently distracting pulling his story along, and Harry settles in for the tale.  “See, I just got stuck in a centre seat, which on Easyjet means having my fucking knees round my ears - good job I’m bendy - next to a bloke with the most hench nose hair who managed to snore all the way to Antalya. During the worst turbulence I ever had on a plane that still had both its wings. And I was already dying for a slash but I was late so I figured I’d just go once we hit cruising, right?”

_ Oh.  _  Something in Harry’s core plummets and flips like that ill-fated flight to Swizerland, only this time instead of ably parachuting everybody to safety, Eggsy is directly in control of the nose dive and the look on his face says he knows it.  It’s not the first time he’s wielded his understanding of the dirtier corners of Harry’s mind, but something about his tone and the fact he’s chosen to do so over a video rather than a teasing message or two makes a sweat prickle out in the small of Harry’s back. This is new. Of course, he isn’t so rude as to interrupt. 

“But they kept the seatbelt lights on cos of the weather so I couldn’t go. And I was just sat there doing the leg jiggling thing, thinking  _ come on, come on…  _ And after a bit all I could think of was that you'd probably love it so I thought I'd give you a call the minute I got in.”

His grin then is bright. Winning. He clearly knows full well that his motivation for sharing has been transparent for some time so Harry doesn’t feel the rub he gives his burgeoning erection through his trousers is terribly inappropriate. Where on earth did this come from? It’s been months since circumstances forced Harry to show his hand as regards his…special sort of interest in exactly these sorts of predicaments and, other than a couple of pointed little teasing comments, Eggsy seems to have let it slide. Seemed to have, until planting himself in that chair and deciding to torture Harry in a way that, if not bound under any convention, he’s pretty sure convenes censorship laws in a fair few places. 

Gleeful at seeing him so obviously caught, flushed, Eggsy continues.

“I was just about to be like, fuck it, and wake  _ Herr Nosehair _ up but then they put the gear down for landing. Except that took an age because of the weather, or the pilot was on fucking work experience or something, and then they'd come in to the wrong side of the terminal so we had to taxi half way fucking back home, and then sit there whilst a gate became free, and I am literally  _ busting _ for a piss by this point but nope, stay in your seat with your belt fastened whilst we do nothing like fucking lemons for half an hour.” The frustration, the desperation is there still as a stretch in his voice, his agitated little gestures, but there’s clearly more to come so Harry just nods and undoes his zip with the push of two fingers - quiet and out of shot, not that he thinks it matters but he doesn’t want to distract Eggsy mid-flow. As it were. _ Oh Christ.  _

“And then, and  _ then _ we had to get the stupid little bus to the terminal and the queue for passport control was  _ long _ and by this point it's been a good two, three hours and I'm this close to hopping a barrier and getting the full wrath of security just so I can go for a slash. But it started moving again so I stayed put, but it literally hurt.”

Harry swallows hard. He knows Eggsy knows what he’s doing, he just can’t quite believe he understands.

“And did it feel wonderful? The relief, when you finally got to go?”

That’s jumping ahead, and means that if Eggsy is happy to keep talking to him about it then Harry’s questions will all be in the wrong order, but it’s the one he wants to ask right now, with his cock throbbing insistently at the underneath of his wrist because he hasn’t quite dared to take it in hand. Not yet.Just in case.

“Well, that's the thing, innit. My hotel was only five minutes away and … I haven't, yet. Thought I'd wait til I spoke to you... if I could.” Eggsy pauses, strategically, for the second it takes that revelation to sink in and bring a flaming heat to Harry’s face. “Can't hold it much more though. So if you want to have a wank about it make it a quick one yeah?”

Harry does not need telling twice, particularly not following Eggsy’s initial acceptance, let alone him voluntarily reopening this door when he has no need to. They’re comfortable enough now not to court every encounter and this one is, as Eggsy has made beautifully plain, on something of a time limit. And isn’t that just the most gorgeous thing to Harry? it was the perfect sort of story for him, too:  real and present enough for him to believe every word. Certainly enough for his prick, which is predictably responsive to his gentle touch; the shock up Harry’s back knocking into the spinning in his head and Eggsy presses him before he can wonder where this might be going.. not that there’s a long way for it to go, in any direction.

“I don’t really know what I’m s’posed to be doing. What do you… want?”

Harry stops and sucks in a breath. A story was plenty.  _ This…  _

“What’s on offer?”

“I dunno! It’s your weird thing.“ And Eggsy’s squirming, actually squirming, tucking his thumb into his waistband by his fly as though any second he can save is of the essence. Or maybe it’s that relieving the pressure of the clothing might help: now the secret is out Eggsy’s making no attempt at all to contain his discomfort. “But get a shift on, seriously.”

“Oh god. Erm.” Harry, despite the thought he’s given the topic, finds himself entirely at a loss under this much pressure, struggling for even the basics, wiping his hands on his trousers as though that’s  going to clear his head. “Well you’d probably be best off in the bathroom, I’m not about to make some poor cleaner suffer for my…” 

For his what, he never says. 

“Got it,” Eggsy agrees quickly and there’s a kaleidoscope of drab hotel colours whilst he picks the laptop up and relocates it, Harry presumes, to a counter or somesuch beside the sink. His view now is of a shower curtain tucked to the back of the bathtub, the closing bathroom door, and then Eggsy reappearing in the frame, now halfway out of his jeans and wrestling them off his other foot. There’s not a split second’s pause for teasing or dramatic effect and somehow the idea that Eggsy can’t spare that is more exciting to Harry than all the stringing out in the world.  It’s so sudden, so much so soon, and Harry recognises that bravery born of pure desperation instantly. Eggsy’s at that point of near delirium Harry finds so delicious: so focused on his need that ordinary rules are secondary, and if his description is anything to go by, no wonder. 

Without pause, Eggsy grasps the hem of his pale blue t-shirt, shows Harry the tiniest sliver of his belly. 

“Want this on or off?” He’s almost out of breath with it, the look on his face close to irritation and Harry doesn’t want to push his luck but he doubts the answer matters as much as giving it quickly.

“On, if you don’t need to wear it tomorrow.” 

Eggsy heeds him and steps into the tub, barefoot but still in his pale grey boxers and his t shirt. Unusually plain, casual,  _ disposable _ boxers for someone with a collection like Eggsy’s - all loud prints and designer waistbands - but that could be Harry’s imagination getting away with him. 

“You can sit down, if you want.”

“...which means you want. Yeah, alright.” And so Eggsy sits down - perhaps a little gingerly? Almost as though he’s so desperate any quicker movement would be risky - and then he’s sitting with his legs out straight and an expectant look turned squarely at the laptop camera. At Harry. “And? That enough stage direction? ‘Cos seriously this is killing me.”

After all these… he doesn’t want to think years but he can’t begin to think how long ago his interest was piqued, or how many times his lips have stopped on the words he’d want to whisper to whoever's on the screen, if he could hear him… at the crucial moment, Harry finds he can’t say it. His mouth is too dry, he’s too clumsy with it, still after all this so afraid that something in his phrasing or tone will disgust Eggsy and he’ll lose this indulgence forever… or worse. But there’s Eggsy, waiting, willing, the look on his face somewhere between pain and hope and frustration and he’s depending on Harry to make this all better for him, and there’s only one way that’s happening now.

“You can... let go.”

Eggsy lets out a happy little huff and drops the tension from his shoulders; lets the back of his head fall back to bump on the rim of the bath whilst he waits for the nature he’s been fighting to catch up with the programme. It’s certainly the most relaxed he’s looked since he called. Harry dares to stroke his own cock again, just loosely, still keen to wait for the best moment before giving in and Eggsy’s body has apparently forgotten its urgency, so he’s quiet for a moment whilst he waits. 

“Oh my days, what are we actually doing?”

There’s a lovely set of words on the back of Harry’s tongue but he doesn’t say them: every explicit description of what exactly they are doing sets a delicious fizz off in his brain but Eggsy doesn’t need to hear them. Plus they’re not quite true yet: Eggsy is still dry, sat comfortably in the bathtub other than the curve of the small of his back which bows up as he squirms through a wave of pain, gritting his teeth with effort.  He lets out a frustrated sigh that turns almost into a whine.

“What the fuck. I can’t. Like, it hurts and it’s been so much effort not to and now you’re making me hard and nothing else is happening.” The accusation blindsides Harry a little, and almost makes him laugh: what point of these proceedings is arousing Eggsy, exactly, is a whole wonderland to think about, and not one he was prepared for. Likely it’s the knowledge of how this affects Harry, the idea of being a fantasy for him that often carries Eggsy just outside of his prior experience, or perhaps he’s found he likes the feeling… something’s made him do all this in the first place, after all.  “I feel like I should be holding your hand or something.”

Harry melts. 

“If you’d rather do this when I’m around to comfort you-“

“We can do that too.”  We can do that too.  _ We can do that too.  _ Of course, Harry has thought about how he’d suggest beginning down this path if Eggsy ever suggested it, and he’d always thought…  _ we can do that too.  _  “But for now shush, it’ll be easier if I don’t think about it.” 

And so they wait.  Eggsy could always minimise the feed or turn Harry’s cam off but he would then be denied the gratification - the reassurance, if he needs that - of being able to see Harry’s response at a glance. And he deserves that, marvellous thing that he is. He deserves to see that his effort, his bravery, his consideration, does not go unnoticed; in this case that his mission to pander to Harry’s most acquired tastes is having exactly the effect he wants. Harry is so hard he’s leaking into his own hand even though he’s been keeping almost still. The wet slip of his palm over the head of his cock makes him think of Eggsy’s, wet as it’s about to be in an entirely different way, trapped against him by soaked fabric and dripping, aching with relief.

Harry makes a noise he doesn’t have time to muffle. 

“Sshhh,” Eggsy laughs, with his eyes closed. “I’m trying to concentrate!”

“Perhaps don’t?” It’s merely a suggestion. Having been given this Harry’s hardly about to dictate the minutiae but to his mind it might be easier, somewhat, to let go without the scrutiny of it being a performance. There is of course also the guilty truth that it is better for him if it’s somewhat involuntary: caught short and caught out, unexpecting and helpless. The twist of excitement is almost painful.   “You might find running the tap helps?”

“There’s the advice of someone who’s done this before, huh?”

“Never.” And he thinks Eggsy knows, and just wants to hear some more of how wonderful he is for doing this for Harry, which will absolutely be on the cards when Harry regains the power of coherent speech. For now he’s taking Eggsy’s lack of movement towards doing as he suggests as a sign of progress.

“I been thinking about how good this would feel for like three hours,” Eggsy confesses, and Harry wonders at exactly which point Eggsy decided his relief might be a spectator sport. How long he spent desperate and thinking of exactly this. The words are sparkling heat in Harry’s core somewhere, fierce and all-consuming. “God, I need it  _ so _ bad, and I can’t even…”

Harry stays silent. The slip of his fingers up the underneath of his cock is electric. He’s no lube within reach but he certainly won’t need more than spit if it even comes to that: he’s so achingly, effortlessly close that a wet patch has pooled in the fold  of his underwear, and it’s suddenly blindingly obvious why he finds it quite so wonderful when Eggsy drips when he’s excited. 

“I couldn’t think about anything else on the plane. All them weird little things that go through your head about how to get away with it. Cups, bottles, folded up hoodie, whatever, doesn’t matter. How good it would feel to just be like  _ fuck it  _ and  _ go _ .”

Harry actually flinches, struck with a wave of arousal so vicious that even the stroke of his thumb on the top of his prick is too much and he wonders if Eggsy’s cracked and helpless voice might prove too much for him even before he gets to see. He must be as desperate for it as Eggsy is by now. 

“I was actually gonna - ah, _fuck_ …” His gasp breaks into a wobble, almost a giggle and there it is. The small spot of darkness first, barely there, as Eggsy tenses and fights against decades of instinct doubtless telling him not to go like this, that he should be standing, that he shouldn’t be feeling clothes, that it’s all wrong…  

Harry’s barely moving, murmuring encouragement, letting hot excitement course through his body unchecked and feeling the climbing, pulsing pleasure his cock makes of it, ready to floor him the second he allows it to.   The damp patch outlining Eggsy’s cock darkens and spreads until liquid puddles, gleaming in the folds of the fabric of his underwear, and Harry realises he still needs to breathe.  

It stops again, for a moment, Eggsy making this lovely little pinched  _ mmph  _ noise and biting his lip as he struggles with his control... but ultimately he needs it too much and he can’t stop himself. Or doesn’t want to, anymore, sand it’s somewhere around that thought that Harry comes, quietly and so powerfully it leaves him shaking.  But he stays riveted, unwilling to be distracted by it lest he miss a second of the unfamiliar heaven on Eggsy’s face, his sigh of proper relief as he relaxes or the little pooling of the stream where his thighs touch in the confines of the bathtub. His boxers are almost completely soaked, the uneven course set by the rapids of his legs and hips sparing a couple of dry patches but wetting the hem of his top and there’s a dark triangle spreading towards his belly by the time he’s finally finished.  _ God, no wonder he needed it.  _ Harry’s spent, wrung out, but his cock twitches in what might be sympathy.

Eggsy keeps his eyes closed. Against the reality, against the embarrassment, safe in the cloud of relief for a moment.

“Now what?”  In his fuzz of bliss it takes Harry a moment to realise why he’s asking, why Eggsy  may not realise that his work here is done.

“Whatever you want, darling.” Harry barely recognises his own voice, it’s so hoarse. “I’m long done for.” 

“Really?!” Eggsy’s eyes snap open, and find just south of the camera. Harry doesn’t need to show him anything more graphic than the flush on his face but Eggsy can see it all anyway. It’s only his right. “Well, fuck! Look at you! I’m getting outta this then.” 

He stands, wet skin squeaking the sides of the bathtub, and pulls his boxers down. His cock is heavy, halfway hard at least but his face is not at all impressed as he works his pants down his legs and kicks them off. 

“Eugh. Rank, rank, rank.” He whips the t shirt off with a grimace that only intensifies when wet fabric tries to cling at his cheek. “Grim.” He slings the offending article to the opposite end of the bathtub, runs the tap and rinses his face with frantic splashes. 

Harry burns with fearful shame, actually briefly considers shutting the connection down and blaming a technical malfunction but Eggsy deserves better. Eggsy always deserves for Harry to be a better man than that, let alone when he’s just made himself feel embarrassed and vulnerable and goodness knows what else for Harry’s viewing pleasure. 

But that, it turns out, is the extent of his remorse: naked, clean enough, Eggsy brushes past it quickly and with a lazy, almost drunken grin.

“You’re recording this, right?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good job I am then, ain’t it,” he beams, tongue between his teeth. Harry wonders when exactly he became so easy for Eggsy to read, to pay like the piano in the Kingsman drawing room he sat down and miracuously launched into Bach on. “Wouldn’t mind watching it sometime. Together, maybe?”

Still thick-tongued, Harry has more or less given up on proper speech. He knows his face says everything he’d like to, and Eggsy’s grin fixes into something more indulgent as he fiddles with the taps to turn on the shower over the bath. There’s no suggestion that he intends to ask for privacy now: not to get washed, not to deal with the hard-on he’s coaxing with a palmful of lotion from the dispenser by the shower mount and if he weren’t so blissfully finished, Harry’s used to the fact he’d get hard for that sight alone. 

“Would you mind if I recorded now? This view’s rather wasted on me as anything but art at the moment.”

“Oh yeah? Whassit you’re always banging on about flattery?”

“Gets you everywhere, in your case.”

“True that.” 

Eggsy stands proud and straight now, the paltry stream of the shower splashing against the back of his neck to course over his shoulders and drip off his collarbones, and a shiver runs up Harry’s middle so hard it’s steals his breath. Eggsy’s left hand cups his balls, gives a rub with his thumb; Harry wants that velvet-shaved skin against the bridge of his nose, wants to help kiss Eggsy clean, although that wasn’t a thought he intended to allow himself, let alone admit out loud. 

“I think you rather enjoyed that,” is what he settles on instead because Eggsy’s smile hasn’t slipped for a moment and he’s wanking properly now, slow but purposeful.

“Maybe.” It comes with that raise of his eyebrows, the lift of his chin that’s meant  _ what are you going to do about it _ before many a brawl, but never with that smile. “ Maybe not quite as much as you did. Your proper lost it there. Did you fucking  _ good boy _ at me?”

“I...”  _ did he? _ “I might’ve. Got rather swept up, I’m afraid-“

“Nah, I like it.” Eggsy’s hand doesn’t slow and Harry wonders at the simple disinhibition of need. How many secrets they spill so easily when orgasm’s in sight.  “Makes it feel less weird. Or maybe not. Maybe more weird, but the good kind. Can’t believe I just fucking did that.” 

“You did. And it was every bit as beautiful as I have definitely not ever spent any time imagining.” It’s not as though there’s anything to hide, now.

“Knew it. Anyone told you you’re mental lately?”

“Merlin, this morning, but let’s not bring him into this.”

“Yeah, no. Cheers.” He remains undeterred, though, his wrist dragging his hand along his cock in such a smooth rhythm that it has to be subconscious, automatic. “How many people know about your little, uh…?” Its by Harry's request that he doesn’t call it a fetish, because it isn’t quite, but fucked if either of them know what else to call it at this point. 

“I should hope none whatsoever.” Harry tries, generally, not to acknowledge this particular facet until relevant moments. Very specifically relevant moments. “Save for perhaps my internet provider.”

That, for some reason, gets a lovely little whine out of Eggsy; makes him roll his shoulders back and pick up the pace on his cock. It’s flushed dark pink and shining slick.

“Still our little secret, then, yeah? Wonder if there really is anybody watching. You know, monitoring. Probably got freaked out and fucked off to ask for a pay rise.”

Funny how he courts the other-ness of it, his breath hitching mid sentence at the idea of this shared thing between them. He liked the idea, before, of Harry’s more depraved last-ditch internet searches; of the guilt and the shame and the crushing pleasure he would never have banked on having like this. 

“They should be honoured.” Harry watches just as avidly as the muscles by Eggsy’s navel tense and cord again, and sees the moment the stroke of his fingers leave his balls drawn up.  “I must say that was far, far better than any video I’ve ever watched.” It’ll sink in, later. It’ll come back to him for years. 

“Yeah?”

“Bespoke’s always superior, isn’t it?” 

“Suits, Harry. Suits. Not videos of people pissing themselves, you fucking freak.” But he says it with a kiss in his mouth, the cheek-tick of a smile that only lasts a second before his mouth’s slack round a gasp again at the feel of his hands. The sound of what he’s made of Harry’s voice.

“Well, maybe I’ve met my match. Beautiful, filthy creature.” Eggsy’s pace stutters, and Harry knows what he needs now. “Look how gorgeous you are, fucking your fist for me. I wish that was my mouth as much as you do, believe me.”

It’s not a word of a lie. Harry would almost call the mission in to fall asleep with the taste of Eggsy on the back of his tongue. 

“You gonna look at this later? You’re gonna end up getting off to your own voice telling me how great I am.”

“I’ll mute it.”

“No you won’t cos I’m gonna come soon and I ain’t gonna be quiet about it.”

And he isn’t: even the squelching slip of the lotion in his fist is echoing nicely in the tiled bathroom, and he’s breathing hard and loud enough to be picked up by the mic and puff out of the speakers. Harry doesn’t pay too close attention: he’ll enjoy this fully in a day or two when he wakes up stiff and feeling the fresh need to remind himself of what he’s missing. He just keeps rumbling quiet affirmation  and listens to Eggsy’s panting turning into hummed little moans as he twists his wrist, lets go with his left hand to steady himself against the tiles as his head tips back.

'Harry - Harry, seriously, fuck, please, I'm close...'

“Let go, darling.”  It’s neither deliberate nor lost on either of them, and the groan Eggsy lets out when he comes is so loud and earnest that the speakers fuzz, overwhelmed just as he is with the intensity of his release. He keeps working his cock until his knee buckles and he spills those very last drops into the bathtub, washed away by the shower as quickly as the rest of the evidence.

Not having been directly uninvited, Harry takes the chance to watch him quickly soap down. His tablet is still set to record and really, he’s never been so spoiled. Eggsy’s only meant to be away for the rest of the week. He’ll have to think of something lovely to do for him.

Eggsy towels off and tilts the laptop so he’s in shot where he stands.  _ Now _ he’s pink;  _ now  _ he’s in a clear mind and going to make Harry involve himself in a sensible conversation, to the best of his ability.

“So, uh.”  _ Please not regret.  _ Harry doesn’t want to spoil this pleasure with having to face the idea that it might be the only time he’ll ever have it, even if part of him might have already accepted that.  _ Please don’t tell me to forget it.  _   “Considering what I’ve just done for you, I want a favour.”

A number of extremely explicit, obscure and degrading things flash through Harry’s mind and really, he doesn’t feel particularly inclined to say no to any of them. 

“Get me the jet home or at least an airline that’s  _ got _ business class.” Eggsy points at the sodden mess he’s dragged over the edge of the bathtub, dripping soapy water onto his jeans on the floor. “That’s me out of casual clothes and I ain’t sitting in a sardine tin in my fucking best Glen Check.”

Harry swallows his chuckle. He can tell from the purse of Eggsy's lips that he's had that punchline queued up for a while and well, perhaps he deserves it. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Serious.” Eggsy raises his sharp eyebrows. “Make it happen, or I’m putting this on the mission comms.”

A media file appears in the chat window beside the feed of Eggsy’s face: eighteen minutes long and summarised by the title screen of Eggsy sitting in the chair in the bedroom something like nineteen minutes ago, his eyes frantic and his hair mussed out of place. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” It wouldn't matter if he would, because Harry has no intention of not giving Eggsy what he wants... well, ever, if he can help it, but he'll play along. 

Eggsy shrugs so casually that it only bothers with one shoulder and one side of his mouth because he’s so pleased with himself for not bursting out laughing.

“Didn’t think I’d do  _ that  _ a couple of hours ago. Funny what you’ll do when you’re desperate, ain’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Like all fanfic authors I live for feedback so please do drop me some sort of <3 or line if you can - here, @agentsnakebite on twitter or randomactsofviolence on tumblr. Much love.


End file.
